Window In Time

by David Boyle

  Not only were the rapids gone, the river was different too. Hayden dipped his hand overboard. “That’s impossible.” Ron was staring. “Check it yourself. It’s like 70, maybe 80 degrees.” They did just that, puzzling over the difference in temperature between the water inside the canoes and out.

  Charlie shook the water from his hand. “What is all this?” he squalled, near panic in his voice. “Where are we?”

  They sat in stunned silence as a ball of fuzzy brilliance grew above their heads and the mist gradually evaporated. Shadowy shapes, like huge shaggy mushrooms, loomed above what was fast becoming a shoreline. The sky went to dazzling blue, the muted grays exploding with color. There were palm trees growing in clusters atop a steep rust-colored bank, shrubs of different types, and a slew of ferns. Big ones, small ones. Some with long flowing fronds. Two not far from the boats that were nearly as big as trees. The river that just moments before was a raging white concourse now a placid meander through a labyrinth of luxuriant vegetation. Alongshore were reed-like horsetails and tiny flowering plants. And farther inland, spindly palms, pine trees, firs, and a wild profusion of other vegetation spread far and wide across the landscape, all hanging limp in the hot muggy air.

  Hayden scanned their new surroundings. “No, no…,” he said with a thick swallow. “This is not physically possible. This has to be a hallucination.” The boulder-strewn gorge was gone, the shoreline now a yards wide expanse of sand and mud littered with driftwood.

  “I’d agree with you,” Mark said, tossing his helmet, “except for this heat.” He peeled away his life vest and raised an arm, fending off the glare. “I’m roasting. I mean seriously. I don’t get this wetsuit off, I’m gonna frickin’ pass out.”

  Huge birds fluttered above a cane thicket that wasn’t supposed to be there… along a river that wasn’t supposed to be there… in a world that wasn’t supposed to be there!

  Ron slammed his paddle across the gunnels. “I told you we should have left this thing behind!” He reached across the thwart and took hold of the alien’s throat. “What the hell did you do to us!?” he nearly screamed, shaking, the flooded canoe close to capsizing when Hayden caught the gunnel.

  “Cut the crap, McClure. There’ll be time for that later. I know how you feel, but how about holding off until after we reach solid ground?”

  Ron shoved the alien and sat back. “Son of a bitch,” he said, spinning his head around. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  With the raft deflated, the Tripper was by far the heaviest of the canoes, Ron and Tony watching every stroke while the others helped them baby the thing to shore. Stunned by the sudden transformation, everyone was obsessed with finding some indication of where they were.

  Time and again Hayden found himself focused on the palms and ferns. “What do you think, Bennett? South America?”

  Charlie flinched around, water burping from his paddle. “What are you talkin’ about, South America? How could that be?”

  “It’s a cinch we’re not in Colorado.” Ten or so yards from the river’s edge was a tightly woven maze of either cane or bamboo, the older stuff especially bent or broken and leaning downstream. There was no way to know how far back it went, but even a short hike was sure to be a ball buster. Ron scanned the horizon for power lines. “Wherever we are, let’s just hope we don’t have far to paddle before we find a bridge or a road.”

  Mark was scanning too, the knot in his stomach growing ever tighter. “Yeah… let’s hope.”

  The sheer impossibility of it all would have been laughable except for the sun on his back. Mark was as confused as anyone, but given he was still in his boat, still breathing, and still able to feel his toes, he had no reason to believe that his eyes weren’t seeing what was actually there.

  The distant ridgeline wasn’t at all comforting. Huge palmate acacias, or their distant relatives poked above the bank, and farther inland the unmistakable outline of evergreens. There were others, of course, a few vaguely familiar, though most were not, the evergreens, more than any, blazing as an enigma. He dug through a lifetime’s sporadic readings, and quickly drew a blank. Admittedly knowing as much about botany as brain surgery, Mark Bennett was yet reasonably certain there was nowhere on earth where conifers and acacias coexisted.

  A chill tickled his spine despite the heat. At least on the earth he knew.

  They beached the canoes, and everyone piled out, eyes sweeping their utterly transformed surroundings while paddles and life jackets hit the sand. The sun was halfway to zenith, and, whether coming or going, had their wetsuits feeling like personalized ovens. Whatever the alien had done to affect their situation, shedding them was their first priority.

  “That feels better already,” Hayden said, one sleeve down and struggling with the other. Tony stepped over and gave the thing a tug. “Thanks. That one always gives me trouble.”

  “You weren’t so cheap, you could buy one that actually fits.”

  “After this? I might do that.” Hayden glanced upstream and down. “Any takers on how far to the first road?” No one answered. “Anybody?”

  “Ten, twenty miles?” Ron offered. “We paddle until we get there.” He glared at the alien as if looking for an excuse to finish what Charlie had started. Whatever the thing had been up to, the little bastard was no longer squirming.

  Charlie tossed the upper half of his wetsuit. “And what if it’s farther? I mean like days farther. We’ve only got food for five, and after that—”

  “We’ll deal with it, okay?” Hayden said with a dismissive glance at the alien. “Wherever we are, the river’s got to have fish in it. And you came to hunt, right? So we can do that too. I doubt you’ll find bears in a place like this, but there’s got to be something you guys can catch.” He tried on a smile, but Charlie wasn’t buying. “We’ll do fine. I promise.

  “And how about we dump the boats? Doesn’t look like we’re going to need our whitewater stuff anymore, so I’m thinking we might as well put on some regular clothes.”

  Tony sniffed his sleeve. “Sounds good to me. I don’t know what it is about polypro, but it gets to smelling pretty nasty after a while.”

  “You guys might want to hold off on that,” Mark said, rinsing his shirt in the shallows. “We give it time to settle, we can use what’s there to top off the water jugs. River looks clean enough… but you never know.” Mark doubled the shirt over and started twisting. “Just a thought,” he said, water drizzling from the material.

  “You really think we’ll need to… fuck, end up drinkin’ outta the river?”

  “Guess it’s possible,” Ron said. “It’s the why that’s got me wondering.”

  “Could be this is cattle country,” Tony said. “Mark is simply being cautious.”

  Ron and Hayden traded glances.

  “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

  Hayden watched as his partner rinsed his wetsuit for the second and possibly third time, like one tiny grain would ruin the thing.

  After all the miles they’d paddled together, Hayden knew that the only time Mark didn’t jump into a conversation was when something was troubling him. He remembered Marie complaining more than once that she could be talking, Mark nodding as if taking it all in, while in fact he’d been catching only pieces, and sometimes barely a word. It was a matter of focus, Hayden had assured her, and not at all an uncommon occurrence that over the years he’d learned to live with whenever he and Mark were together. The mill was still grinding, the wheat not yet turned to flour, and until that happened Mark was unlikely to open up.

  Hayden worked his boot free, then draped his wetsuit across the bow. A shadow swept across the river, its big-winged source wheeling overhead. A buzzard, he guessed by the shape of its wings, a dozen or so of its friends circling inland, and a bunch more squalling from behind the canes.

  His head was spinning. Nearby was a creature from another planet, near frozen most likely and trussed up like a turkey; Charlie stumbling around and twitching at anything th
at moved; Tony lighting one cigarette after another; and his partner acting like a damn washing machine on automatic. It was all just too damn strange.

  He got to his feet, and with no particular direction in mind started alongshore. Everywhere he looked was a mystery, and maybe, just maybe he could find a clue or two to help solve it.

  Ron took a long swig.

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s a beer, Delgado. You’re the one with the cancer capsules. This at least doesn’t carry a warning label. Besides, they’re not going to stay cold forever.” Ron tipped his head toward the boat. “He awake?”

  “The alien? Oh, he’s awake alright. And scared, too.”

  “And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay that way. The last thing we need now is to have to deal—”

  “Ron…. Tony….”

  Hayden was kneeling a short distance downriver. Ron finished what was left in the can, then scrunched the thing in his fist and tossed it over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “You better come see this.”

  They hurried over, Charlie glancing nervously before falling in behind.

  “Damn, they’re everywhere.” The prints were eroded, though not to the extent it wasn’t immediately apparent that whatever made them was huge.

  Hayden got to his feet and brushed the sand from his knees. “Any ideas?”

  “Could be a rhea,” Tony offered. “They’re native to South America. Or am I getting them mixed up with emus?”

  “Bennett would know better than me. Either way, they’d have to be—”

  “Who you tryin’ to kid? Even ostriches don’t have feet this big.” Charlie could see, and so could Ron, that there were plenty more of the three-toed imprints farther alongshore. “I don’t care what you say, these weren’t made by a fuckin’ bird.” Charlie twisted around, staring. “I got a bad feeling about this place. I ain’t shittin’ ya, we gotta get outta here.”

  Ron kept spotting tracks. “You might have something there. And before you go….” He reached and pulled the revolver from Charlie’s hip and verified that all six rounds were live. Mark was trotting toward them, and pointed when he noticed Ron looking. “Now what?”

  There were two curiously slim aircraft flying along the river, one slightly above the other. Not far really, but still no sound of engines. “Wow, that was fast.” Ron sighed. “See there? They’ve found us already.” Both were flying at barely treetop level, their shadows skimming the water. They were strange looking craft, with narrow bodies, bowed wings, and odd extended cockpits.

  They were closer now. And still, not a sound.

  “Must be gliders,” Tony said, the words barely escaping his lips when the lead ‘glider’ flapped its wings. Someone gasped when its ‘wingman’ did the same.

  Mark trotted up beside them. “There’s no easy way to say this,” he panted. “We’re a lot worse off than I thought.”

  The creatures loomed ever larger, gliding silently on wings that spanned nearly a third of the river. Light tan above, snow white below, each had sharply pointed wing tips and a narrow, anvil-shaped head. Chirping softly, neither seemed at all interested in the onlookers as the animals flew past and continued upriver.

  Charlie gasped. “The hell…?”

  Legs trailed from where a tail would normally be, and unlike any bird, the wings didn’t have feathers. Hayden swallowed the lump in his throat. “Look at the size of those things…!”

  “No way. They gotta be fake. Birds don’t come that fuckin’ big.”

  “The last part you got right,” said a dour Mark, watching the creatures recede in the distance. “Thing is, they’re not birds at all. They’re pteranodons.”

  Ron looked over. “You’ve seen them before?”

  “Only in pictures.”

  Tony dropped his gaze, nodding a second later. “I remember now. They’re on that big mural in the Field Museum.” He hadn’t been there all that often, the last time with Wesley, and he seemed pleased with his recollection until the other depictions came into focus. “Oh my God. That means we’re—”

  “Yeah, in an ocean of shit.” Ron spun Mark around, his eyes blazing for an explanation. “Don’t ask me how, McClure, but we’re in the past. And I mean way the hell back.”

  Ron stared for a second, a smirk soon settling across his face. “You sons’a bitches. You got me, okay? Got me good. We’re in the past, like that’s even possible.” He looked from Mark to Tony, certain that any second they’d crack up laughing. “Try again,” he said. “And no bull shit this time.”

  Mark’s expression never changed.

  Hayden sighed. “He’s telling the truth, Ron. When Tony was talking I remembered seeing a picture of them in one of Trina’s picture books.” He looked upriver, but the flying reptiles were gone. “It’s a dinosaur book.” Ron wilted like a dying flower. “God only knows the technology it took, but our friend over there somehow managed to send us through a… I don’t know, a window in time?”

  Ron stood blinking, the thought that they might not be fooling slowly sinking in, squawks and wing beats filling the air as he studied one solemn face after another, storm clouds brewing when he looked to the Tripper. Clenching his jaw, his grip tightening on the chrome-plated six gun, he set off along shore.

  Tony noticed the glint. “Slow down, McClure… Darn it, stop already. We need to talk about this.” Ron clearly wasn’t listening, Hayden hurrying off to stop him before he reached the Tripper.

  “You’re wasting your breath,” said Mark. “Come on. Move.”

  Ron was almost there when Hayden snagged his shoulder. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but nothing you—”

  “This is his fault, Prentler. And I’m going to make the bastard pay.”

  Charlie pulled up. “And if he doesn’t, I sure as hell will.”

  “You’re thinking about shooting somebody,” said Mark, slowing. “You might as well start with me.”

  “The fuck you talking about? Why the hell would you even say that?”

  “I know you’re pissed and all, McClure, but you kill him and we’re dead anyway, and shooting me now would make it a whole lot easier than staying here without a way home.” Mark could see the shift in Ron’s eyes, an invisible foot easing up on the accelerator. In moments where lives were on the line, some people got mad enough to kill, like Ron at the moment, teetering on the edge and with only reason to stop him from going over. “I’m not crazy about the situation, none of us are, but shooting blue boy here closes the door permanently on any prayer we got of ever making it home.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Mark said in his best imitation calm. “You figure out where we are and how to get us out of here”—he stepped aside, sweeping an arm—“and you can blow holes in him until you run the fuck out of ammunition.”

  Ron was ready to break a tooth, the alien motioning at its collar.

  “Fair?”

  “Alright, Bennett. You win this one. But he’d better not screw with us or I swear I’ll splatter his brains all over the river.”

  The alien stilled, the piercing green eyes focusing on one face after the other.

  “So, how do we do this?” Tony said, slopping into the shallows beside the Tripper. “Considering that from his perspective we’re the aliens, do we play good guy/bad guy, or what? I mean really, how do we get through to him?” The alien gestured at its collar, its voice akin to a croak. “Okay, so he wants at whatever those bumps are.” Tony turned. “Your call, guys. Should we let him?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” Ron said, waving the chrome-plated handgun in the alien’s face.

  “We got it, okay? And I’m guessing he does too,” Mark said. “How about now we find out what it wants?” Mark looked to his partner. “I say we untie him.”

  Hayden shrugged. “We got another choice, I don’t see it.”

  “Maybe. But I’ve made my mistake for the day and I’m not about to make another one.” Ron paused. �
��How about a little demonstration?” They were fresh out of answers, and Ron’s tone wasn’t making the situation any easier.

  “Guess that depends on what you have in mind,” Hayden said uneasily. “Just don’t do anything we’ll regret.”

  “You mean something else, don’t you?” Ron pointed the revolver between the alien’s eyes and ratcheted the hammer back…

  “Ron, please!”

  …then swung on the river and pulled the trigger. Pow! The blast was deafening, water spouting; the report still echoing as a slew of fleshy-headed birds cackled skyward from behind the canes. He swung back around and clicked the hammer. “Got the idea, shithead?” Ron nodded, and the alien nodded back. “Good. Very good…

  “Your turn, Delgado. Go ahead and untie him.”

  Tony went slowly to a knee, the alien tensing when he reached for the ropes. “It’s okay,” he said, showing the palms of his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He brought his wrists together, then spread them apart. “Untie the ropes?” The alien shifted its gaze to Ron.

  “Quit being obnoxious,” Hayden said. “Enough with the cannon already.”

  Ron folded his arms, careful to leave the barrel showing. “Happy now?”

  Tony wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “Just be careful with that, okay?”

  The alien watched while Tony fumbled with the bindings, in its gaze the recognition that he was frightened too. The eyes shifted as he worked through the knots, each of its captors now objects of the alien’s studied appraisal.

  Tony tried putting himself in the alien’s situation. Ron, Charlie, and Mark stood bare-chested beside the canoe and reeking of sweat. They all had different hair cuts and colors, Mark and Hayden with beards and glasses to add to the confusion. They were taller and heavier too, even Mark, their single-thumbed hands presumably as strange as his were to them. The vastness of the differences, taken together, made it all the more remarkable that the alien was being so calm.